The Celebration of a Century Involves Fish
by Midnightxwolfx
Summary: During a World meeting, America interrupts to ask Iceland about a certain soccer team's after-goal celebration. Sounds fishy? Indeed, it does.


**After seeing this Icelandic soccer celebration all over the news on TV, I looked it up. This truly is an awesome celebration worthy of Gilbert. Look it up, "Iceland soccer/football celebration". That's all you'll find.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Hetalia. If I did, I would rule the freaking world.**

It was another world meeting. Iceland sat in his respective chair, a hand propping up his head. His brother, Norway, sat next to him, just as bored as he. Occasionally, Norway would let loose a flash of green sparkles. Iceland couldn't see them, but he knew those puffs of sparkles were pixies. Though the action would be entertaining for most, Iceland couldn't tell what his brother was thinking. He could never tell. He could never tell when he was happy, or when he was sad, or…or when he was proud of Iceland. Not that he cared, Iceland told himself.

Norway made a grab at the air and the green sparkles ceased. He must've caught the pixie.

"Bror," Iceland looked at him fully, rather than through the corner of his eye.

"Yes?"

Norway analyzed him with dull, indigo eyes that were worn from so many wars. When Iceland was young, he remembered even a little bit of sparkle within them. But now it was gone. And Iceland doesn't know where it went.

Norway spoke in his quiet, piercing voice, "something's bothering you." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement.

Iceland shook his head, his messy silver hair flying about, "it's nothing really important."

His brother surveyed him cautiously, but decided not to pry. He never pried, which Iceland was grateful for.

A loud voice cut through the air, "Hey you!"

Many nations turned to America. Nobody knew who he was referring to, because America never knew the names of anybody except France, Russia, England, China and sometimes, his own brother. Canada.

But if Iceland was not mistaken, America was pointing at him. He had a sleek, black laptop in his other hand. And standing behind him nervously, looking around with purple eyes so much like Iceland's own, was America's often forgotten brother, Canada. Iceland rarely mistook him, as he had taken care of the northern nation many years ago.

Norway looked at the North American duo, frowning irately at the loud blond and choosing to stare at the other brother instead.

Iceland swivelled in his chair, "yes?"

America clicked something and showed the screen of his laptop, "is this your soccer team?"

Stumped very briefly at the question, Iceland watched the video of his football team taking a penalty kick in extra time. Oh yes, he remembered this. This team was Stjarnan, and that was when they won against another team of his, Fylkir.

Many other nations, intrigued at America's rather random question all hurried to gather round the laptop. Norway looked vaguely amused. He had watched the game.

Halldor Orri ran and took a swift kick. He held up his arms and rejoiced when the ball reached the back of the net. The rest of his teammates ran onto screen to him. They all stopped briefly, and more than one nation wondered what they were doing.

Orri casted out an imaginary rod and continued to reel in the line. Johann Laxdal ("It's Johann the salmon!" cheered America at this point) came flopping onto the screen, pantomiming a fish. He stopped flopping while the rest of the team picked him up and held him like the big catch of the day. Another teammate ran around and kneeled in front of the men. He held up a nonexistent camera and took a shot. The video stopped there.

There was a quiet pause. And then everybody started bursting out in laughter and applause. Left and right he was badgered about how he came up with such a celebration. And Iceland couldn't help but crack a smile. Football was fun and that's exactly what he intended to do. Make football even more fun. China left the room muttering to himself. Prussia was chatting to Germany about all the awesome things he could come up with, and occasionally mentioned how awesome that pantomime was. Spain went skipping out of the room, still caught up in euphoria with not only winning the world cup in football, but numerous other sports as well. Later that day, Iceland found him talking to France about how good after-goal celebrations would up the legendary status of his team.

"C'mon Mattie, we gotta come up with celebrations worthy of a hero! Later, if you want, we can do stuff on the ice too, for your hockey teams!" America slung an arm around Canada.

Canada mumbled quietly, "for my hockey team?" The modest nation felt that a celebration after a single goal wouldn't be very modest. But then again, Canada was never modest when it came to hockey.

Iceland watched them walk out, feeling a slight tinge of envy at their brotherly relationship. He felt an arm drop around his own shoulder. He looked at Norway, who now giving him his rare, genuine smile with that sparkle in his eye and spoke in a voice filled with pride.

"That's my brother."

**Omake:**  
The door to the room rattled.

BAM!

"NORWAYYYYYYYYYYY!"  
"God dammit Denmark..."  
"Ow! Hey! Stop hitting- Norwayyyyyyyyyyy!"


End file.
